Unfortunately Unbreakable
by Luan Mao
Summary: Unbreakably bound to someone you can't stand? How unfortunate.
1. The First Unbreakable Contract

**Disclaimer**: Every character and scene appearing in this story is mine, for I am JKR. Ah, JKR with dark hair. And an Adam's Apple. And a five-o'clock shadow that won't go away no matter how closely I shave. But I've got good legs and I'm sure I'd look _marvelous_ in a skirt.

This sprang from a thread on the Caer Azkaban Yahoo group. See message 227146 and the thread around it. The story is marked as Humor because that's the closest of the choices, but much of it is a rather grim humor. If you're looking for something light and amusing, this ain't it.

**Unfortunately Unbreakable**

In 1590, during the final battle of the dwarf wars (which later generations of Hogwarts students would never learn about because they did not involve a goblin uprising), Pederasticus Parkinson saved the life of Lloyd Potter. He was about to claim some reward from the magically powerful family when Potter saved his life in turn. There was only one thing to do.

"When you have a daughter – no, wait. Considering your predilections, you'll never have a daughter. Let's say, when a daughter of the Parkinson family and one of the Potter boys are of age and unmarried at the same time and, say, within five years of each other, they shall wed and join our families in recognition of our mutual obligation." At the time, "of age" meant past puberty and physically ready to create children.

Parkinson agreed and after the battle they turned the agreement over to a clerk to write up and formalize. When it came time to sign, they were both half-drunk at the victory celebration and interested only in getting wholly drunk and not at all interested in reading the terms of the contract. Potter, in particular, would have been distressed to learn of a clause which went into all Parkinson contracts. Too bad. He signed it without reading, a mistake under the best of circumstances.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Poppy Pomfrey filled out the form for all of the health checkups for all of the Hogwarts students. It was a part of her job she really resented. Unlike the ministry drones who had no job other than to shuffle pages back and forth, she had a real job, watching after hundreds of accident-prone students in a poorly supervised school. She didn't even know if anyone read these forms or did anything with them, but she had to fill them out anyway. She had been fined 100 galleons a few years ago simply for sending the forms in a few days after the June 30 deadline.

Some of the questions were ridiculously intrusive, none of anybody's business, and probably pointless. Still, she had to be careful in checking the correct boxes for those students who had, for instance, gone through puberty in the past year.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Lucius Malfoy was incensed. His son – his alleged son, the persistent failure whom his wife insisted was his – had failed to pick up the basics of what happened between men and women, let alone between men and more interesting beings. Now Lucius had had to take his idiot son – alleged son – to a discrete healer for a cure to a problem of a most personal nature. That wasn't bad enough, oh, no. Lucius had been forced to sit through the lecture because the idiot boy had managed to become infected with a wasting disease which was spread only by intimate contact. And to learn that the intimate contact had been with the girl he'd been contracted to marry since infancy. And to face the head of the Parkinson family and break the engagement because of the girl's obvious infidelity. And then to learn that Draco had not even had intimate contact with the girl but had only engaged in deep kissing, which led to the inescapable conclusion that Draco had gone through a proxy to have intimate contact with another wizard. But even the knowledge that Draco had wasted his time going through a proxy was not what had Lucius incensed.

Lucius Malfoy was incensed because he would have to give his son – his alleged son – The Talk, and that simply wasn't done. Proper British pure bloods simply did not talk about such things.

Lucius would have been horrified to learn that this was yet another similarity between proper, upper-crust British wizards and proper, upper-crust British mundanes.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Fergus Ferguson, of the Ministry for Magic's Contracts Notification and Registration Office, stared in annoyance at an envelope. The charms had let him know that another old contract had been activated. Perfectly routine. He sent the notification to one of the parties, a Mr Parkinson. Perfectly routine. He'd sent the notification to the other party, Mr Potter. Perfectly routine.

Mr Potter's letter had been returned as undeliverable. That was not routine but it was not uncommon. Fergus could even see that it would be expected with somebody as famous as Mr Potter, although he would have thought that correspondence from the ministry, which was by definition very important, would have gotten through his owl wards.

Fergus wrapped the letter in another envelope and addressed it to Harry Potter's Guardian. The delivery owl wouldn't even accept the letter. That was annoying, but again, not unheard of. Probably the owl wasn't smart enough or its charms weren't strong enough to figure out who the guardian was. Fergus spent an unprofitable hour attempting to find out the information so that he could address the letter more precisely. He was unable to find a name to go with the position.

Very annoyed, because it was nearing the end of his work day and he was damned if he was going to work one minute more than they were paying for, Fergus scrawled "To Whoever Thinks He's In Charge Of Harry Potter" on the envelope and thrust it toward the owl. To his surprise, the owl accepted the letter and flew off.

Alas, the owl made its way to Albus Dumbledore's overflowing inbox. The letter was never seen by human eyes again. Not that it would have mattered if Dumbledore had eventually found it. The contract had a one-week no-questions-asked cancellation clause which could be activated by either party. Albus Dumbledore was in Europe that week, attending to ICW business, and did not return until after the cancellation period had lapsed.

**...oooOOOooo...**

The recipient of the other owl, Panderus Parkinson, read the contract notification with some surprise. He had had no idea that such a thing was lurking any ministry filing cabinet. However, being an ambitious and crafty sort, he immediately saw how he could turn this to his own benefit. And to the detriment of the Malfoy family, which at the moment was the same thing.

Panderus, and Pansy, had been devastated when Lucius Malfoy had canceled her betrothal to Draco on the grounds that she was impure. What an outrage! Pansy's mother had verified her purity herself (to the girl's mortification) while Panderus plotted the family's revenge.

This would do it. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had equally good claims to the Black Family fortune. With a bit of behind-the-scenes politicking, Potter would inherit, and his wife would be his beneficiary, which meant that Panderus was only a bit of politicking, a marriage, and an untimely death from getting his hands on the Black fortune.

He called the elf to prepare his most impressive robes. He had ears to bend and arms to twist.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Lucius Malfoy took in the gossip from the multitude of flunkies and hangers-on who flocked around him. Most of it was drivel – honestly, he had to get himself a better class of flunky – but one bit caught his ear. A marriage contract between that Parkinson slut and Harry Potter? It was not only the most amusing thing he had heard all day, it was potentially the most profitable. Draco assured him that Potter was nearly a squib. It wouldn't take much of the magic-eating venereal disease to make him a true squib, thereby making him ineligible to inherit in the Black family, thereby clearing the way for Draco to inherit it all. Lucius made his way to bend the ears of a few friendly department heads and to twist the arms of a few others. Nothing would interfere with _this_ contract's enforcement.

**...oooOOOooo...**

The September First train ride from London to Scotland was very long, as always. This year, without the excitement of finally going to Hogwarts, the creative solution of borrowing his father's flying car and making their own way up, or the threat of the dementors, it seemed even longer. There was only so much exploding snap you could play, and Ron was looking forward to something to break up the monotony.

Be careful what you wish for. The door slid open and there was Malfoy's narrow, ratlike face, spoiling Ron's appetite. That was a crime against humanity! Or at least a crime against growing boys.

"Just what I expected, a traitor, a mudblood, and a scarhead, all stinking up the compartment. It's just the same as always. But just you wait, Potter. Something different is happening this year and then we'll see which of us is the winner."

Ron wanted to come back with a snappy retort but nothing was coming to mind. He could never think fast enough for that. He'd have to think of some ahead of time so he would be able to tell Malfoy what he thought of him. Luckily, Harry wasn't so slow.

"You're already the winner, Malfoy. Your mother was hot-hot-hot at the Quidditch World Cup. You already got to see her with her top off when you were a baby. Oh! Is that a sore point? Were you nursed by a house elf and that's why your ears are so big?"

Malfoy was so angry he couldn't do anything but squeak out "my father". Harry laughed as he shoved the blond out the door. "Not your father, yo mama."

"Harry, you're a disgusting, sexist pig. I don't know why I put up with you."

"Don't give me that. I'll bet you wet yourself trying not to laugh, didn't you?"

"I won't dignify that with an answer. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to step out for a moment."

Ron met Harry's eyes and they both started laughing as soon as the door shut behind Hermione. They had sobered up by the time she returned.

The door slid open again minutes later. "There you are," Pansy Parkinson said in her usual, unpleasant, fingernails-on-chalkboard voice. "Why didn't you come and find me? Why did I have to search all up and down this train, looking for you? Now come on. We have to make plans. I'll be wearing white, of course."

Ron, Harry, and Hermione all looked at one another in confusion before turning back to the girl still in the doorway. "What? What are you talking about, Parkinson?"

"Yah, what do you need Harry for? And I'm not letting him go anywhere with a snake." Ron was going to stick up for his friend. Neither of them would ever let the other down. Best mates through thick and thin, that was it.

"Has someone cast a hex on you, Parkinson?" Hermione asked. "You do realize you're talking to Harry Potter, not Draco Malfoy?"

"Shut up, you stupid mudblood and you blood traitor," Parkinson sneered. "I was speaking privately. Now come on, Potter. I don't have all day."

"Why would I go with you, Parkinson? I don't have anything to say to you. I don't want anything to do with you. I'll never want to have anything to do with you."

"Oh, that's the way it is, is it? You should have said so before … unless you _wanted_ the penalty. That makes sense. Your pet mudblood is practically a boy already. Just wait until I tell my father what –"

Ron was pulling his wand – to do what, he wasn't sure; he'd been trained by his mother since childhood never to strike or attack a girl under any circumstances – when Harry's full-power banisher caught her right in the face.

"Harry! What did you just do? You can't attack a girl!" Hermione screeched at him.

"It wasn't a girl. It was Malfoy, couldn't you tell? I don't know why he polyjuiced himself as Porkinpug, but it was him. Came in to annoy us on the train, same lame insults, whining about his father. Who else could it have been?"

"I'll bet I know why he's disguised as a girl. It's because he liiiiikes you, Harry."

"Shut up, Ron!"

"He wants some kiiiiiiisses!"

"Ron, if you don't shut up, I'm going to throw your gangly butt out the window!"

The three friends all laughed and came up with reason after reason for why Draco Malfoy, ponce though he might be, would have disguised himself as Pansy Parkinson, each explanation more ridiculous than the last. The remainder of the trip passed quickly and with much hilarity.

**...oooOOOooo...**

As Albus Dumbledore presided over the opening feast of 1994, he pondered the news he had received shortly after the Hogwarts Express had arrived: Harry Potter had attacked Pansy Parkinson for no reason at all.

Dumbledore was no fool, and neither was he senile. His normal persona was nothing but an act intended to fool the gullible and the simple-minded. The act was more effective than he'd ever expected, taking in virtually every magic user in Britain. He didn't know whether this was because he was an amazingly convincing actor or because he was surrounded by simpletons, so he dealt with it by believing each explanation on alternating days. Today he believed he was surrounded by simpletons who had to be led by the hand, or by the short and curlies, wherever they needed to go. For their own good, of course.

Because he was surrounded by simpletons, Albus had to give very clear, very simple instructions. "Minerva, please escort Mr Potter to my office immediately after the feast. Severus, please escort Miss Parkinson to my office immediately after the feast. And, Severus, you are not to speak to Mr Potter until we all reach my office." Throw the mangy cur a bone. "You know that, as a child, he is unable to properly control his temper when provoked, and you must admit that you deliberately provoke the child. Let's hold off on that until we have heard his side of the confrontation."

Soon enough, the five were gathered in Albus's office. "Lemon sherbet?" he offered. No one took one. They never did. It made Albus sad that no one else could ever experience the tangy delight of his special blend. He'd discovered it quite by accident. He never would have thought to deliberately mix his own urine into a batch of candy, but the results spoke for themselves.

"Very well, then, down to business. Mr Potter, it was reported that you attacked Miss Parkinson for no reason when she went to talk to you on the train about a contract. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Harry's eyebrows went up. "Parkinson? I didn't see her since the platform in London. Malfoy came in and insulted us disguised as Parkinson, but that's it."

"Liar!" Of course Severus had to express his opinion, and of course he had to insult Harry. At times Albus despaired for the long-term success of his rehabilitation projects.

But of course, today was a "surrounded by simpletons" day, so he really shouldn't expect any better.

"Were you there, Snape? Because I don't remember seeing you. And if we're trying to learn the truth about what happened, why aren't Ron and Hermione here?"

"That's _Professor_ Snape, Harry. You should realize that it is very difficult to treat you as anything but a child when you childishly refuse to treat those around you with the respect they have earned."

Harry gave him such a dumbfounded look that it must be an act. But, "surrounded by simpletons" day. Albus sighed inwardly and prepared to explain it in terms even a simpleton could understand.

Harry didn't give him a chance. "If you want me to treat Snape with the respect he has earned, I'll start insulting him and his parents in front of the whole school. And I'll start destroying things that matter to him. That's a nice potions storeroom you've got there, Snape. Be a shame if anything happened to it."

Parkinson's shrill voice cut over Snape's and McGonagall's haranguing of the poor, misguided boy. "Forget all that! I don't care about Snape! I don't even care that stupid Potter attacked me. I can pay him back later. What are we going to do about the contract? I'm not going to suffer just because stupid Potter wasn't man enough to fulfill his duties."

Even Dumbledore couldn't make any sense of that. It was one of the hazards of being surrounded by simpletons, that it was contagious.

However, after several tries Dumbledore finally got from Miss Parkinson that a marriage contract between herself and Harry had been activated and accepted.

"That's simply impossible. I have been acting as Harry's guardian and any such contract would have to go through me. I certainly have not seen anything of the sort."

"_You're_ my guardian? _You're_ the one who's supposed to have been keeping me healthy and safe and happy?" Harry nodded slowly a few times. "I think I feel a bout of teenage rebelliousness coming on."

"Shut up, stupid Potter. Nobody cares about that. Headmaster – that is, Mr Dumbledore, Harry Potter's guardian – my father gave me a receipt from the ministry's contracts office saying that they delivered your copy of the contract and also that you didn't decline it. My father told me that you made no attempt to contact him regarding the contract. That means that I have to marry stupid Potter or suffer the penalties."

The dates on the paperwork from the ministry suggested that the contract had been delivered – supposedly had been delivered – while Albus was away, attending to one of his many other responsibilities. It was possible that it had been lost when he told his elf to dispose of his overflowing inbox on his return. Not that he was going to admit that out loud. It was one of the traits of simpletons that they latched onto the first explanation that presented itself to them – the first convenient explanation which absolved them of any responsibility – and did not make the effort to look further into a matter. If the simpletons around him heard even a suggestion that Albus was to blame, they wouldn't consider the perfectly plausible explanation that the clerk in the ministry's contracts notifications office had sloughed off on his duties and then fraudulently filled in the paperwork afterward to cover his lapse.

It was already a late night and it would be much later before Albus calmed everyone down and everything was settled. It was too late to bring in one of the ministry's contracts staffers but Albus called in Miss Parkinson's father, who confirmed her tale. Eventually Albus got everyone out of his office.

Harry stayed behind for one last word.

"You did this to me, Dumbledore. You stuck your nose in again and you dropped the ball. Again. I'm going to look into the penalties for breaking the contract. They can't be as bad as marrying Parkinson."

"If you have your eye on one of the other young witches in the castle, you may be able to come to some arrangement to take her as your mistress. So long as you do your duty by your wife –"

"No! I don't want Pansy at all! I don't want any of these girls."

Albus nodded in sympathetic understanding. "Ah. I quite understand. It was the same for me in my youth. Like you, I was required to marry, for the continuation of my family in my case. My brother was unsuitable, of course. I at least was able to function with human women, but he… Well, that's his preference and his own affair. In any event, you can marry Miss Parkinson and force yourself to do your husbandly duty, and then follow the tradition in these cases by spending most of your time with your friends. Your male friends. Your strapping, male friends, with firm, young… Ahem. And later, when you are more mature and fully respectable and your wife has provided you with an heir, you may find a likely lad or two to foster. You need only look to tradition, Harry, and you'll find guidance for most of life's problems."

Harry then left his office, shaking his head and obviously not accepting the pearls of wisdom cast at his feet. Albus was glad this day was finally over. He had had enough of being surrounded by simpletons.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Pansy joined stupid Potter and his stupid friends in the library after classes two days later, researching marriages and contracts and marriage contracts and ways to break the unbreakable. She and stupid Potter had spent the previous evening talking and finding out if they could ignore three years of house rivalry and get along. She wasn't _totally_ opposed to this marriage, though the idea of him putting his filthy, halfblood hands on her nauseated her. Her father had told her the reasons he was in favor of this union. They were good reasons, and she saw the benefit for herself as well as her family, and it wasn't like she was looking at a lifetime with the bastard, and the benefits would pay for any number of house elves to help wash away the taint.

On the other hand, that insulting halfblood seemed to think she – _she!_ – wasn't good enough for _him_. She wouldn't weep a single tear if stupid Potter broke the contract without her having to defy her father or suffer any penalties.

It would have been nice if any of her friends had joined her here – the table was suffering from an overabundance of stupid Gryffindors – but the only bad thing about Slytherin House was that you usually had to stand alone as soon as anything went wrong. She wasn't happy about it, but she'd followed the informal house motto herself: everyone loves a winner, everyone leaves a loser.

"No, that's not what it means, you ignorant mudblood," Pansy corrected the thing with the freakish hair and the rodent teeth. "'Live together as man and wife' means just living together, in the same house. And not all the time, just most of the time. It has to be where they both call home. If you hadn't grown up like an animal, you know these things."

"Parkinson, I'm getting tired of your mouth. Watch it or go away or go drown yourself, I don't really care which."

Pansy wasn't worried about stupid Potter's bad temper. One of the terms of the contract, a standard term, was that neither of them could kill the other. Not directly, anyway. There were ways around the exact wording of the ban. Her ancestors had learned all the tricks.

The bad news was, the contract seemed to be truly unbreakable. The penalty clause was very nasty but Pansy had already known of it. It had been a Parkinson standard for centuries. Stupid Potter, though, had been very funny in the way he panicked. It had taken his pet mudblood half an hour to calm him down and get back to work. Really, being cursed to be attracted only to (and attractive only to) young boys wasn't the end of the world. Her brother had mistakenly tripped that clause in contract before having any children of his own, which left Pansy as the Parkinson heir, and that didn't bother Pansy at all. Maybe it was a boy thing.

The good news was, the contract could be fulfilled without her having to let stupid Potter actually touch her. It was the mudblood who had figured that out. That didn't change Pansy's opinion of her. She had never denied that mudbloods had their uses, it was just that they weren't as good as real people.

Still, stupid Potter seemed inappropriately grateful to the mudblood. He should be thrilled and honored for even the chance to be near a pureblood princess such as herself, and he should understand what she was going through, having to be near him.

But that wasn't what was happening. She looked on in disgust as stupid Potter hugged the mudblood after she'd outlined how he could go through with the marriage and not have to be friendly to Pansy and not be cursed. "Potter, if you ever want to dream of touching me, you won't sully your hands by touching that freak."

"I warned you." His face hard as a stone, Harry ignored her threats and imprecations as he dragged her to the second floor and into… A bathroom? After chasing out a poor girl who only wanted to do her business, Harry hissed at the wall and it opened large enough for them to enter.

"You can slide down there on your own or I can throw you down," he told her.

Pansy drew her wand as soon as he let go of her arm but he took it from her with insulting ease. Then he threw her into the hole.

The slide down was disgusting from the slime. The trip through a deep hallway at the bottom was disgusting from the small animal bones, though the gigantic snake skin was almost impressive enough to make up for it. But then stupid Potter opened the final set of doors by hissing again and revealed a gigantic chamber, one with puddles of stagnant water and moss growing everywhere and – great Caesar's ghost! What was that thing?

"The contract says we can't kill each other," Harry told her in a flinty voice even more frightening than the snake-hissing. "It doesn't say anything about not leaving you down here and bringing you food once a week. Leaving you in the dark and cold and wet. Do you think you'd last a month before you killed yourself or had an accident in the dark?" He aimed the light from his wand at the giant snake's remaining fang and a few other hazards.

Pansy could barely stammer out a few threats. "As soon as I get my wand back…"

"I killed this basilisk all by myself when I was twelve, not even a year and a half ago. Do you think you scare me? Do you think you can do anything for me but annoy me? I'm tired of you and I'm tired of your mouth and I'm tired of you insulting my friends. You're going to control yourself around me or you're going to regret it."

Pansy broke. She promised not to insult the mudblood or the traitor – Granger and Weasley – if he would bring her back up. She went back to the Slytherin dorms after Potter left her in the bathroom. Slytherins were known for their cunning, not their courage, and she had to cry this one off.


	2. The Second Unbreakable Contract

"Potter, if you ever want to _dream_ of touching me, you won't sully your hands by touching that freak."

Hermione was going to deliver a scathing retort because she had gotten tired of this ignorant little pig's insults but she was preempted.

With a thunderous look on his face, Harry stood up, grabbed Parkinson by the elbow, and dragged her out of the library.

He returned an hour later, alone.

"Are her ears still ringing? Did you yell at her until she cried? What?" Harry was staring at her. "Don't you think I get tired of that retarded inbred and all the other inbreds insulting me all the time?"

"Don't you start, too, Hermione. I just read Pansy the riot act and left her alone to think it over. I'll do the same to you if I have to."

"What? How can you take her side against, against anyone?"

"I'm not taking her side. I'm not taking anyone's side. I just need… I have enough pressure already. I don't need insults and yelling and fighting around me. And for your information, Pansy is not an inbred. Most purebloods aren't. I found out last night. They keep their families' histories going back centuries. Do you really think that they wouldn't have noticed what happens if you keep marrying your cousins?"

Hermione wasn't used to Harry arguing against her. And being right! This could not be allowed to stand! "We'll examine the question of inbreeding later. Even without that, you can't deny that she's stupid and ugly."

"Stop it, Hermione. She's not going to insult you anymore. I don't want you insulting her anymore, either. Just, ah, maintain a distrustful neutrality, like they say about countries."

"What happened, Harry?"

He described the trip down to the Chamber of Secrets and his threats to Parkinson. It was interesting, and Hermione wondered if simply asking would get her a tour or if she had to make him angry first, but it wasn't what she was getting at.

"No, Harry. I meant, what has happened to you? You're getting hard and short-tempered. Are you still the Harry who has been my friend for three years?

"Parkinson happened. And Dumbledore happened. Even back over the summer, the Death Eaters happened. Mostly it's the marriage contract. I'm trapped and that old fool screwed up in making me trapped, and the contract could have killed me or worse if I hadn't found out about it. I have to start taking care of myself and I can't let anyone get away with screwing me over or making my life harder."

Hermione agreed. Hermione understood. Hermione extrapolated her understanding of what he had just said to the conclusion that first-generation magic users had to start standing up for themselves against the prejudice of the inbreds. Harry would probably help, though she hesitated to ask, not until he had settled some of the other drama in his life.

On that matter… "Here is a summary of my – our – research into marriage contracts and relevant law. Is it enough, do you think, or do you need me to continue researching?"

"It's enough, I think. Thanks. Here's my idea…"

**...oooOOOooo...**

Daphne Greengrass wondered why she had been asked to accompany her friend Pansy in meeting with Harry Potter and some others. All she could think of was that, after being thrown into a hidden, underground chamber by an unexpectedly forceful Potter, Pansy needed a witness any time she was going to meet with the little psycho. Daphne wouldn't be much good as a bodyguard. Proper pureblood girls were not encouraged to learn to fight and in any event the Greengrasses were thinkers, not fighters.

Potter was accompanied by Hermione Granger and Weasley, of course. There were rumors about what the three got up to, being together almost all the time. _That_ kind of rumor, taking into account Hermione's heritage. Everyone knew that muggle girls were easy; in fact, many pureblood boys would admit that the only reason they took Muggle Studies was to learn to fit in well enough to pick up girls.

Daphne had never paid much heed to the rumors about the Gryffindor Three because she knew Hermione from several shared classes, but even she had to wonder. It wasn't normal for a teenage girl to have no female friends and to associate only with a pair of teenage boys. It wasn't normal, unless the teenage girl in question needed something that girl friends couldn't provide, which took her right back to the rumors.

On Pansy's side of the table were only the two girls. This might be a power-play by Potter's team, attempting to tilt the negotiating field, if that was what was going on here. Nevertheless, Daphne nodded at Hermione. There was no bad blood between them.

"Thank you for coming, everyone. You all know about the marriage contract between Parkinson and me, right? Ah, that means you, Greengrass. I know everyone else knows. It's nasty, but last night we found – that is, it was mostly Hermione that found – a bunch of loopholes. I'll just talk about the important one for now. Hermione, correct me if I get anything wrong.

"The important loophole is that Parkinson – Pansy – and I have to _be_ married but we don't, mostly don't, have to _act_ married. There are a couple of things we have to do to keep up the pretense and satisfy the magic of the contract. We have to mostly live in the same place – 'sleep under the same roof'. Parkinson has to take my name. We can't try to kill each other. That's about it."

"That's great, Potter. How does that help us?"

"Weren't you there last night when we were talking about it?" Daphne could almost hear Potter thinking _You really are stupid, aren't you?_, though his lips didn't move. "What I just said is all we have to do. We don't have to do any of the normal things for being married."

"Normal things like what?"

"Harry is primarily referring to the customary conjugal relations between spouses."

"What is that supposed to mean, you filth–?" Pansy bit off what she was going to say, looked fearfully at Potter, and instead said, "What's that supposed to mean, Granger?"

"Let me explain it, Harry, 'Mione. I speak pureblood. Look, Parkinson, there will be none of this in your marriage, and none of this, and definitely none of _this_." Weasley made hand gestures which offended all three girls and led to him being smacked by Hermione.

"Actually, Ron, there probably will be, ah, that in our marriage. Just not with each other."

Daphne lifted an eyebrow. "Just what are you saying, Potter? It seems that I'm here to help my friend, so I want to know what you have in mind."

"I don't like this marriage contract. I don't like being forced into it and I don't like being forced to be with someone, especially with someone I don't like. I say we make a mockery of the whole thing, rub it in their faces, Dumbledore and everyone who had anything to do with it. We have to pretend to be married, go through the motions, but we don't have to act like a normal, married couple.

"I'm planning on dating whoever I want to. Not now, I mean. I mean, whenever I was going to start dating anyway, I'll do it. Parkinson – Pansy – you should do the same. Date is much as you want, wherever you want. Heck, get caught in a broom closet if you want to. I won't care. But I'll support you if anyone, like a prefect or Dumbledore or your father, try to give you problems about it. You do the same for me and we'll call it even."

Pansy seemed too overwhelmed to speak or perhaps a little slow to pick up on what he was saying – she was on the slow side, but a decent friend nevertheless – so Daphne answered for her. "I understand, Potter, and I'll make sure Pansy understands. Do you have any limits on whom your wife can date? And do you have any plans for whom you intend to date?" Daphne leaned forward and stared deep into his eyes when she asked this. She wished that she'd thought to loosen a button beforehand. She found that she quite liked this forceful, confident Potter, nothing like the nonentity in classes or the perpetual victim everywhere else.

"Ah, no, no restrictions. Anyone she wants to, except me."

He seemed to have missed her hint. He might be forceful and confident, but no smarter than usual. His attractiveness to her went down a notch.

It never entered the pretty girl's head that, as a self-declared friend of Pansy's, her attractiveness to Potter was much lower than she thought it should be.

"Greengrass, the reason I asked Parkinson to bring a friend today was mostly as a witness. If anyone asks, you can confirm that your friend's husband said it was okay for her to date. OK?"

"Very well."

The conclave discussed a few more ways to fulfill the letter of the marriage contract while violating the spirit and then broke up, appropriately taking different routes to the Great Hall for lunch. Daphne gossiped with Pansy about Professor Snape's nose having been broken in the last Potions class. He'd bashed the door open as he usually did for his dramatic entrance, but the sticking charm had failed and the heavy door had bounced back and bashed him in the face. Most of the fourth year Slytherins had helped the professor to see Madam Pomfrey. Hermione had taken charge of the classroom, over the protests of the Gryffindors, who wanted a free period, and the remaining Slytherins, who objected to a Gryff thinking she could tell them what to do. Regardless, it had been one of the better Potions classes in over three years. Hermione's ranking in the eyes of her peers had probably jumped from dead last to only near the bottom.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Theodore "Call Me Teddy And I'll Kill You" Nott was in luck. Early that evening Pansy Parkinson had sat next to him in the common room – sat _very close_ next to him – and told him that if he got her in the mood she would be interested in a bit of romancing. Getting her in the mood had involved presents, so after a pound of chocolates from Hogsmead and a hand-me-down ring which had been in the family for a couple of centuries but which he didn't really need, Theodore found himself in a private spot with Pansy.

Making out was good – it wasn't his first time, but this was the furthest he'd ever been allowed to go – but then Pansy told him something amazing.

"Have you ever made out with a married woman, Theodore? I'm married to stupid Harry Potter because of an old marriage contract."

Theodore backed away from Pansy, at least as far as the closet would let him.

"Doesn't it turn you on? Knowing that you're getting one over stupid Potter? And do you want to know what's even better? I'm married, so Pomfrey gives me all the contraceptive potion that I want."

That was all it took.

But before either of them finished, the door burst open and there was McGonagall. Theodore was too frightened to be traumatized.

"Mr Nott! Miss Park– Mrs Potter! Just what do you think you're doing?"

Theodore thought of asking the professor just what she thought they were doing, but he wasn't suicidal.

McGonagall had just hit her stride in yelling at the two students and assigning detentions when she was interrupted.

"Excuse me, Professor. As it was my wife who was caught having an obvious affair, I believe their punishment is up to me. Please cancel the detentions and excuse us, if you would."

"Quite right, Mr Potter. Keep in mind that Mr Nott is under sixteen years of age and therefore you are not allowed to execute him." And with no more guidance than that, the deputy headmistress stalked off, leaving them at Potter's mercy.

Theodore shot a pleading look at Daphne Greengrass, who had come up behind Potter for some reason, but it just slid off her icy demeanor. He was more frightened than when McGonagall was there. Sure, everyone said that Potter was a wimp, but under the law he could do almost anything if his wife had an affair… and McGonagall had left them with him, and Theodore's wand was with his clothes, crumpled over in the corner.

"You've got to be more careful, Parkinson. That's the third time I've had to cover for you. I won't always be there, you know. And cover yourself up. No one wants to see that."

Everyone said that Potter was a wimp. And they were right!

Theodore pulled the door shut and got back to what he was doing.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Pansy walked with the thick-set, thick-headed, and, well, _thick_ Derrick up to the Great Hall, where the Goblet of Fire awaited slips of parchment from any daring, talented, and of-age student … or from Jedrek Derrick. Derrick wasn't the type who normally got her in the mood for a date – to cut to the heart of the matter, his family wasn't rich enough – but his being over seventeen and not too clever to be tricked was good enough for tonight.

"Are you sure it's OK for me to put Potter's name in for him? Things have been happening to people who get on his bad side and I don't want to get on his bad side and have bad things happen. Nothing bad is going to happen and I won't get on his bad side, right?"

"Oh, no, of course not. I'm not trying to kill my husband. My wonderful husband" – Pansy couldn't believe those words were coming out of her mouth; well, she was sure she'd be wanting to brush her teeth after this date, so the toothbrush could take away the taste of the words while she was at it – "who lets me have fun with anyone I want. No, I want him to become more famous so he can take care of me better. He can't put his name in himself because he can't pass the age line."

"But why didn't he ask me to do it? I don't mean you're tricking me and you did a good job of convincing me" – meaning she'd done a bit of groping while convincing him – "but I don't want Potter to set his sights on me. Look at what's happening to Snape. Bad things."

"Potter – I mean, Harry – couldn't ask you himself to put his name in the Goblet, or even ask me to find someone, because Dumbledore or someone might ask if he knew how his name was entered or who did it. We have to play a careful game here. Harry was so smart to figure that out." Pansy threw up a little in her mouth, but a small part of what she had said was nothing but the truth. She had to play a very careful game here, setting things up to get what she wanted (the Potter money, mainly, but freedom from stupid Potter, as well) while not tripping the law's or the contract's penalty clauses for trying to kill her husband.

Pansy watched Derrick drop the parchment into the Goblet and then hurry back to her for his payment. Another, mismatched, pair of eyes should also have watched him approach the cup, but this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was working on a way to escape from a small group of resourcefully relentless Fourth Year students.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Hermione reassured her uneasy friend as they waited for the feast to begin. "Look at it this way, Harry: every year there's a plot against you or some dangerous situation involving you. Also, every year the Defense professor has attempted to harm you. In the past three years we got significant clues about the plot on Halloween, but the plot or situation wasn't fully revealed until June. Similarly, the Defense professor's most dangerous attack was not launched until June. This year, the problematic situation was revealed right at the beginning of the school year. You should be free of plots until next year. On the other front, we kept Professor Moody occupied all evening and then watched the Goblet ourselves all night to make sure he couldn't tamper with it to your detriment. If, that is, this year follows the narrative pattern of earlier years."

Harry's answer made no sense at all. "Er, Hermione? I think you've been spending too much time with the books. We aren't living in a story, and the real world isn't as neat as all that."

Ignoring his nonsense, she continued, "Honestly, Harry, what are you worried about? You already have a wife you don't want, you've terrified half of the school when they tried to torment you, and we don't know of anyone who is currently trying to kill you. What's the worst that can happen?"

"If you just jinxed me, I swear I'm going to… I'm going to…"

"If you're thinking of giving me a spanking, I'll have to refuse. First, I am both too old and too young for spankings. Second, you're a married man, and I don't see myself as ever allowing a married man to give me a bare-bottom spanking."

"I wasn't going to suggest a spanking, but it's good to know the direction your mind goes."

Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend but had to admit she'd started it. Curse her subconscious! "Hush. Dumbledore's getting up."

Half an hour later, after Harry's name had come out of the Goblet, he turned to her and asked, "Do you want your spanking tonight or do you want to wait until the weekend to give your bottom time to recover before having to sit in class all day?"

Hermione waited outside the room where all of the champions had gone, defying the prefects and two professors who had attempted to chivvy her up to the dorms with the rest of the students. When the champions and judges and miscellaneous Hogwarts professors gaggled out of the room, Dumbledore also attempted to run her off, saying "Run along, Miss Granger. None of this concerns you."

"Excuse me, Headmaster, but who is speaking for Harry tonight? He was the only under-age person in that room and he didn't have anyone to advise him or uphold his rights. All of the other champions had their heads of school but Harry had no one."

"Are you suggesting that I cannot adequately represent Harry's interests as well as Mr Diggory's?" Dumbledore asked, eyebrows up.

Of course you can't, Hermione thought, but it would not be helpful to say that out loud just now. Fortunately, Harry came to her rescue as she struggled to find something accurate but acceptable to say.

"Of course you can't. Look at how you blew it this summer, saddling me with Pansy Parkinson for the rest of my life."

"Potter! Fifty points from Gryffindor for disrespect. Granger! Fifty points and a detention for disobedience."

Before Snape could even draw another breath, one of the Great Hall's floating candles lost its magic and dropped. Greasy hair goes up like a torch.

Catching each other's eyes, Hermione and Harry walked up to Gryffindor tower to face the music. Party music, as it happened. Their housemates were raucously celebrating the youngest champion's trickiness in cheating his name into the goblet.

On the way to an early breakfast the next morning, Hermione voiced a thought that had been bothering her as she shifted uncomfortably during the night. "A classic narrative pattern is to foreshadow a major plot point by showing a lesser version earlier in the story. Do you suppose the unbreakable marriage contract was a foreshadowing of the unbreakable tournament contract? The first was annoying but no worse, a lesser version of the potentially fatal second contract."

"Sometimes I worry about you, Hermione."

"Hmmph. How do you plan to face the tournament?

"I don't know yet. They, that is, Crouch and Bagman, told me that I have to compete or I'll lose my magic. I've been thinking about it. I mean, I grew up without magic and I can live without it and if I don't have any magic than that blasted 'little boy' penalty in the marriage contract won't affect me, right? So the question is, what's worse: giving up my magic or risking my life and having to stay with Parkinson?"

"Put like that, it does seem rather clear-cut. One thing you didn't mention is that you are still a minor. If you aren't attending Hogwarts, you would have to live with the Dursleys, wouldn't you?"

"I know. That's why I'm still thinking about it."

Sitting down to breakfast, Hermione grimaced and then glared at her friend. "How did you talk me into letting you do that? And next time, don't spank so hard."

**...oooOOOooo...**

Severus Snape was delighted. He kept it buried deep inside, of course. No student would ever see him smile, except at the misery of others.

But of course, this was a situation which allowed him to not only rejoice in the misery of another, but to increase the misery. And not just any misery. He'd make sure this splattered on that blasted Potter!

"Potter! What are you doing in such a state of undress with a boy who is not your husband?"

Pansy Parkinson – Severus knew full well that she thought of herself that way and hated the name Potter – stammered an explanation even as she tried to cover herself. Severus was briefly tempted to offer her a way to get out of detention but could not immediately think of a way to torment Potter with the knowledge that he'd enjoyed his wife which would not cause more trouble for Severus himself.

"I suppose I should not be surprised that you have to seek male attention from other than your husband, but that does not excuse his conduct. I think two detentions, as well as five for your husband for not being manly enough, should cover this offense."

"Excuse me, Snape." The well-known and well-hated voice grated in Severus's ears. "I'll take it from here. Pansy's punishment is mine to determine. You may leave now."

"Mr Potter. What a surprise to find you within a mile of a naked woman. Your lack of respect to your betters has earned you another week's detention." This was getting better and better. Snape almost let the smile out.

"I'm afraid I can't accept that. You have no grounds for assigning me any detentions. Rather than bother to report your abuse of authority, I'm going to just ignore you. Less paperwork that way."

Severus couldn't believe the arrogant brat's nerve! "That's another two weeks of scrubbing cauldrons, Potter."

"Pansy and whoever you are, you're free to go. Pansy, come find me later to discuss your punishment."

"Get back here, you two! How dare you ignore me?" Potter's disrespect and disobedience were to be expected, but Severus couldn't believe that the other two ran off despite his orders. Potter's attitude must be contagious. Oh, how he'd pay for this. "Potter! You get back here!"

"I have to go check on my friends, Snape. I have a lot of friends at the castle, friends that you wouldn't expect. House elves, poltergeists, all kinds of friends. You wouldn't understand."

"Potter! How dare you ignore me? Get back here!"

Severus reached for his wand to bind Potter and drag him to the headmaster – surely not even Dumbledore and his infinite forgiveness could deny that this was grounds for expulsion – when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, confident that no student would attack them but not foolish enough to risk it, just as the battle ax from a nearby suit of armor fell and cut off half of his right foot.

Severus thought he heard "Lots of friends" echoing in the corridor as he worked to stanch the bleeding.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Hermione sat, petrified, in the stands around the dragon pit. It might have been better if she'd been magically petrified. She wouldn't be scratching deep gashes in her cheeks as she watched the first three, older, contestants barely survived their dragons.

How was Harry going to survive? He'd told her a few evenings before that he'd decided to forfeit the tournament, accept the loss of his magic, and leave both Hogwarts and Parkinson. But the announcer – Badman, or something like that – made it sound like there would be four champions, as if Harry hadn't managed to hide or escape.

Hermione was sitting alone in the stands. Even Pansy's company would have been better than worrying about Harry all by herself. In fact, Hermione realized as she looked around after the third dragon was led away, Pansy was nowhere to be seen. Where was she? The entire school (except for Snape, who was confined to the infirmary; he'd been poisoned by contaminated healing potions that Madam Pomfrey had been using to treat his amputated foot) had been called out to watch this spectacle, this bloody entertainment, the feeding of Christians to lions. So where was she?

Finally, Harry came out onto the field. Even from up here Hermione could see he was moving very stiffly. Had the other champions attacked while they were alone in the tent?

Moments later, Pansy slipped onto the seat next to her.

"Where have you been?"

"Taking care of business."

She'd been in the girls room for over an hour?

"If things go right, five minutes from now I won't have this stupid marriage contract to stupid Potter."

"What. Did. You. Do?"

Pansy was too excited to notice the warning in Hermione's voice, or simply discounted her as a threat. "Stupid Potter was refusing to do anything for the tournament today, so the headmaster asked me to persuade him to participate. I asked him what was in it for me, of course. He tried to tell me that my husband would have a chance at fame and fortune, blah blah blah. I wasn't going for it, of course. Gold is a girl's best friend. Dumbledore said he didn't have any gold to give me, but what he had was good enough: ten 'Get out of detention' passes, good for getting caught undressed or anything else. Ten should last me a week, maybe, if we're careful and don't get caught too many times.

"And there was another part of my 'pay' that I didn't mention to the old man, getting rid of this marriage to stupid Potter. We'll see.

"Once I had a good enough bribe, I didn't even have to persuade stupid Potter. I just tricked him. It was easy because he's so stupid. Dumbledore told me where he was hiding, so I went there and started talking and talking and talking. I already knew stupid Potter doesn't like that and I already knew that stupid Potter would have to listen to me if I said it the right way – it's all in the contract, if you know the tricks.

"And so I talked and talked. I told stupid Potter about what I want out of life and he had to listen. I told stupid Potter how he needs to change to be a better husband and he had to listen. I even told stupid Potter that I won't let him date unless he pleasures me before and after my dates and he had to listen to that. I led him to the tournament tent and he didn't even notice we were outside the castle until that fat quidditch player shook his shoulder.

"And then he was so mad at being tricked that I'll bet he won't even remember he has a wand when he's thrown out to face the dragon. Oh, but look! He _doesn't_ have a wand. He must have dropped it. I'll give it to him later … if he's still around later."

Before Hermione could respond, or strangle the manipulative witch next to her, the judges started the task. As if she had been waiting for the signal, the dragon roared at Harry.

He stood there and took it for a minute, cringing from it slightly, then he straightened and screamed right back at her.

The sound was incredible.

Hermione had never heard anything so loud, not even the Concorde taking off when her parents took her to see it as a child.

Harry walked over to the nest, stepping around the inverted and vomiting dragon. He looked much more relaxed than a minute before. Screaming could be therapeutic, after all.

"I didn't know dragon puke burned," someone said very loudly. He was still probably deafened.

Harry made it back to the judges' stand with the pieces of his golden egg in his hands.

"So what do you want me to do with this piece of junk? Hey! Old people! Are you taking a nap while I'm risking my life?"

The judges didn't answer. Two were passed out and the other three looked well on the way to "completely stunned".

Shrugging, Harry tossed the shards of his egg over his shoulder and walked away without waiting for his score.


	3. Some Breakage

Sirius Black looked at his godson in disbelief. "You want me to what?"

"I want you to find me a hooker."

Sirius couldn't help himself. "Oh, Harry! I'm so proud of you! I didn't start hiring hookers until I was almost 16. This was definitely worth being called back from my tropical paradise."

"Mfoff me, oo mayee muh!"

Sirius put Harry back down and dusted off his shoulders. "So, what are you looking for? Big tits, right? All teenage boys like big tits. An older, more experienced hooker with big tits, to guide you."

"No! You didn't hear anything I said except 'hooker', did you?"

"Of course not. 'Hooker' is the only important part. That, and big tits."

"I'll tell you again. Listen this time, okay? They're making me go to the school's Yule Ball because I'm a tri-wizard champion and I'm supposed to uphold the honor of the school and I have to have a date and all that rot. I was going to just blow it off and not go and maybe even go join you wherever you were, but then I thought of something better. I want to take the nastiest hooker I can find, to show what I really think of the tournament and the ball and the school. That's where you come in. I figured that if anyone can find a nasty, old prostitute with missing teeth and oozing sores, it'll be you."

Sirius was conflicted between pride that his godson was coming to him for something important and a vague sense that he'd just been insulted somehow. "You can count on me, Harry. I'll even get you some germ-proof gloves for when you have to hold her hand when you dance."

"Good. Thanks. There's something else, something that may let you stay here and not have to hide from the ministry."

"Really? I'm all ears!" Sirius changed to his large-eared canine form to make the point. Harry didn't seem to get the point, but also seemed disinclined to be slobbered on, so Sirius changed back.

"How would you like to be adopted? As a married man whose wife has unfortunately been unable to give me an heir, it's up to me to find a suitable child to bring up in the proper tradition. I can't think of anyone more childish than you, so how'd you like the job?"

"Married? You? Since when?"

"More than three months ago. I owled you before it happened. Didn't you get the message? I wondered why you didn't come running. I figured you were too busy checking out babes after ten years in prison."

Sirius vaguely remembered an owl delivering a letter about three months ago, but he'd just discovered a nude beach on his tropical island paradise and needed the parchment to make a telescope to check it out before visiting it. It would have been a disaster to discover that it was a vacation spot for old, fat naturists. But he was still annoyed by that "most childish" remark and wasn't going to admit to any of that.

"So who's the lucky girl? Does she have big tits? And no children yet. That's too bad but don't give up hope. It's only been three months. And shouldn't you be taking your wife to the ball?"

"Pansy Parkinson, no, and hell no. We'll never have any kids if I have anything to say about it. I can't stand her and will never get anywhere near her. And my wife won't be going to the ball, with me or with anyone else. I've put her in time out for a few weeks for trying to kill me."

Eventually Sirius got the full story of the marriage and the tournament out of Harry.

"Dumbledore again. Does it seem to you that every time we turn around and find a problem, Dumbledore's in it somehow? Sometimes I think we need to do something about it."

"Yah, but don't worry about that right now. What I have in mind will help with an earlier Dumbledore mistake. The way I figure it, the ministry is illegally trying to kill you. That is, the ministry is trying to kill Sirius Black. That's a problem. And I have another problem. The marriage contract says I have to have an heir within two years of being married, which was three months ago, or else Pansy and I both get penalized. The problem is, I don't plan to ever 'touch' her. Not that way, and not at all if I can help it. So we have two problems, but maybe we can use them to solve each other."

"Now just one minute there, Young Man. You're not expecting me to sleep with your wife, are you? Sure, I've been in prison for most of your life, but I'm not that hard up yet. And how would that help me with the ministry?"

"No, you horndog! You're going to be my heir. Sirius Black-Potter doesn't have a kill-on-sight order on him and I could insist that my heir be kept with me safe at Hogwarts. And I'll bet we could set it up so that you're Pansy's heir, too. She's the Parkinson heir because her older brother messed up a contract and now he'll never be able to have kids."

"Are you sure about this? This will be legally and magically binding if we do it and it could cause problems for your real kids when you have some."

"We can worry about that later, yeh? Let's worry about us both surviving the next year first."

"Okay, if you're sure."

"I am. Oh, and don't worry. I won't make you call me Dad. Not to start with, anyway."

Sirius just happened to have the materials necessary for a blood adoption. He'd been planning on adopting Harry and making him the Black heir, but this was better.

After the ceremony Sirius conjured a mirror and looked at his new self for the first time. "Holy smackeroly! I look like you!" The green eyes were the most significant change, but the shape of Sirius's face showed that he was clearly Harry's child. Except for his face being twenty years older than Harry's face, of course.

"Here's what we're going to do. Your next Potions class, I'm going instead of you. I'll tell Snivellus that I invented a permanent aging potion. Want to bet I can push him into a heart attack before the class is over?"

**...oooOOOooo...**

"Miss Delacour, Mr Diggory, Mr Krum, you have all figured out your clues, yes? You are aware of your goal at the lake today?

"Mr Potter, because you didn't have a clue following the first task – and it was not your fault at all, but I'm sure no one has cheated by giving you any help – so I'm sure you're wondering why we are here. Well, I'll tell you. The one who is most precious to you has been taken from you and placed under the lake. If you ever want to see your wife again, you'll have to rescue her within one hour."

Ludo Bagman was not happy. His status as a free man – and not a slave of the goblins – was riding on Potter's winning the tournament. He'd gotten very lucrative odds from the bookmakers right after Potter's name had come out of the goblet.

But then Potter's golden egg had turned out to be defective – tampered with, no doubt – and the foreign judges refused to allow him a replacement egg. Cheating foreign bastards, giving their schools' champions a leg up. Ludo would have to even the odds for Potter and Britain. And help himself in the bargain, but that was merely a nice side benefit of doing the right thing.

But the little brat wouldn't listen to him! When Ludo tried to give him some friendly advice at the Champion's Table at the Yule Ball, Potter had sicced that foul old hag on him. What was he supposed to do now?

"Let me get this straight. You've taken Pansy Parkinson, my wife, and placed her at the bottom of the lake?"

"Yes, that's right."

"And if I don't figure out how to rescue her within the hour, she'll be gone forever?"

"Exactly!"

"And I didn't have anything to do with her being put there and didn't even know about it?"

"Of course not!"

"Are you completely insane?"

The other judges looked affronted. Percy Weasley huffed, "Now see here, Potter," but Potter cut him off.

"What makes you think I'd lift a finger to save her? The one I'd miss the most? Ha! Never see her again? I might just have to take back all the bad things I've said about you, Percy! Most of the bad things. You're still a moron."

This was a disaster! If Potter didn't do well, Ludo would lose his money, and shortly his freedom, for sure.

"Potter, you'll have to at least try to go get your wife, or you'll lose your magic." Ludo was sure that this threat would motivate any magical being. And once he started, a naturally competitive person like Potter would charge into the fray at full bore.

"Try, right? I love that word, 'try'."

Ludo wasn't the only one who was upset with Potter now.

"Harry, I'm sure you don't mean what I don't think you didn't meant to not to mean to say." Dumbledore wasn't coming across quite as clearly and forcefully as usual. He'd passed around a bottle of brandy in his office before all the judges came out into the cold and wind half an hour ago. It was cheap stuff and Maxime had declined with a sniff. "More for me! Lucky for me it's a day without an S," Dumbledore had said before killing the bottle.

"Oh, I meant it, all right. I got stuck with a wife I don't want, partly because you dropped the ball, and don't think I won't be thanking you properly for letting that slip through. And then I got entered into this tournament and you didn't do anything to help me get out of it, and don't think I won't be thanking you properly for that, either. But it's like I've already figured out, one problem is a problem, but if you have enough problems sometimes they solve each other."

"If you don't recover your wife, Harry, I may be forced to expel you from Hogwarts."

"Oh, beat me, whip me." Even Ludo, a childless bachelor, could recognize teenage sarcasm when he heard it. Not Albus Drunkledore, whose eyes lit up in sudden interest.

Another grown wizard elbowed his way in between the judges. "Potter! Why aren't you rescuing my daughter? Your wife?"

"Why should I? You're a businessman, Mr Parkinson. Look at it this way: there is a cost to having Pansy around, and no benefit. There is a cost to going to rescue her, and no benefit. I couldn't get rid of her before because of the contract, but Dumbledore's gotten rid of her for me, and I didn't break the contract. So tell me, why should I go get her?"

Parkinson looked about to attack Potter, but then held himself back. Ludo understood. The boy was a vicious monster, if the stories that made it out of Hogwarts had any truth to them.

"A house. I'll give you a house for you and Pansy to live in after you graduate."

"Four bedrooms, in the suburbs or a small town. Nice but not too fancy – I want a house to live in, not a showpiece. Buy it and furnish it now, so my son can live there while I'm at school. My wife and I will join him over the summer."

"Done."

With the drama out of the way, Ludo started the task. Three of the champions immediately dove into the water. Potter, always different, waved his wand and conjured half a dozen water snakes. Big snakes. Ludo flinched from the sight as a repressed childhood memory came up. If those snakes had emerged from a pair of trousers, he'd have run screaming toward the hills.

The snakes swam off after Potter whispered to them, much to Ludo's relief.

And then everyone sat back and waited for the return of the champions.

And waited.

And waited.

Potter broke first. He wandered over to Mr Parkinson and said, not making any attempt to keep his voice down, "I'm bored. Whoever's in charge of the Tournament sure came up with a boring task. Let's talk about what we should do to them for kidnapping your daughter. I'll help because they dragged me into this tournament that I didn't want to have anything to do with."

Ludo, and some of the other judges, listened with increasing dread. All of Potter's ideas, such as hiring a giant to put them over his knee for a well-deserved spanking, were childish and not terribly threatening, but each of Parkinson's ideas, fine-tuned by Potter's son – And what kind of madman would name his adopted son after the criminal who murdered his parents? A cold, unfeeling dark-wizard-in-training, that's what kind of madman! – Each of the ideas from Parkinson and the younger – elder? – Potter was worse than the one before. Lawsuits: bad. Criminal charges for sending a grown man to kidnap a 14-year-old girl: worse. Hiring the goblins to send a war party to capture the judges and hold them for trial: disastrous!

Before Ludo or young Weasley could become upset enough to disrupt the vile planning session, Potter's snakes returned with his wife in tow.

She was spewing invective at Potter before her shoulders were out of the water. "I hate snakes!" Ludo sympathized completely with the girl, but then she continued with "If you were any kind of real man you'd have gotten me yourself! You're not getting any sex until you're older than Dumbledore!" He sympathized completely with Potter when the boy turned to Parkinson and asked, "Are you sure you wanted her back?"

"She's my daughter, Mr Potter, and my heir."

The task's points having been awarded, Ludo watched as Potter foisted his still-fussing wife off on her father and then wandered off with his son. Despite Ludo's best efforts and despite one of the other champions not retrieving her hostage, Potter was dead last in the tournament. It was time for Mrs Bagman's favorite son to plan his escape.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Severus Snape had let himself develop an addiction. He didn't know how he'd missed it; warning signs of addiction were taught to every competent potions student. This meant that the Hogwarts students for the past fifteen years hadn't learned the signs, but it would be good if any of the little incompetents managed to kill themselves.

But Severus Snape had an addiction. He had to admit it to himself as he fumbled with the stopper of yet another extra-strength pain potion – the magical world had never thought of easy-open potion bottles for a man with no thumbs. His addiction was likely to kill him, and put him through much pain before it did.

Sighing in dizzy bliss as the potion worked its magic, Severus quickly checked that he was carrying everything he needed for his shift of patrolling the school's hallways. Cloak charmed to billow dramatically, check. Wand, check. Contemptuous sneer, check, and even better than his former best because of the scar tissue from when the left side of his face had been burned off. Six vials of extra-strength pain potion, check.

Limping through the halls on his half foot, Severus was pleased to have found his prey so quickly. He knew it was bad for him, but he just couldn't _not_ abuse the brat. "Potter! What are you doing, walking with two witches who are not your wife? How much did a pathetic, ugly dwarf like you have to pay for their affections?"

Oh, this was going to hurt…

**...oooOOOooo...**

Ron hurried to catch up with his friends. He'd had to eat one last piece of pumpkin pie before heading to class; it would have been against the law to leave that one lonely piece in the pie tin when everyone was done eating.

Up ahead he heard a familiar sound: a high-pitched, whining voice. Not Parkinson – er, Mrs Potter – er, Pansy Parkinson. Ron paused in his contemplation of pie for a moment. He'd been horrified when Harry had told him and Hermione about the marriage contract. He was sure he would lose his best friend in a week, two at the most. But it had been months now and Harry was still alive, so maybe it was all right.

Ron couldn't get back to his contemplation of pie because of the worthless, whining snake who wasn't Parkinson.

"… much longer until you're nothing but a squib, Scarhead. Then you'll see which of us is better."

"Didn't we go over this already? Your mother has the best ass I've ever seen, Malfoy. You win."

"Damn you, Potter! See if you can stop this!" Malfoy whipped out his wand and cast what looked like a high-powered something-or-other… but only a few sparks dribbled off the tip of his wand.

Ron was already ready for the next step of this regularly-repeated drama. When Malfoy waved his two goons forward to grab Harry, they went crashing down, taking their boss with them. Those hours he'd spent learning to cast the shoe string-tying jinx with just a whisper had not been wasted after all.

"Does it seem to you that Malfoy is even more pathetic than before?" Hermione was asking Harry when Ron came up. "Ron, you saw that, didn't you? Do you know of any kind of sickness that makes one magically weaker? Do you think it could be going around the Slytherins? I've noticed several of our Slytherin classmates are doing more poorly in class."

"Yah, there's a couple things it could be. Let's get away from here. We don't want to catch it, whatever it is."

As they walked off, 'Mione babbling something he didn't catch about giving a report to Madam Pomfrey, Ron thought again about his pumpkin pie. And then, for the first time, he noticed how 'Mione's robe curved in back, round and firm, like a pumpkin. And then Ron was thinking about pie again.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Pansy fumbled her charms work yet again. She'd been having trouble all week and today she simply couldn't do anything. It was probably because she hadn't been getting much sleep or doing her homework. She had better things to do than stupid homework. She didn't have to worry about making a living; between Daddy's money and stupid Potter having to take care of her, she didn't have any worries and didn't have to actually do anything or even be able to do anything.

And if she didn't have to study, why should she? There were so many better ways to spend her time.

She'd dated around a bit last year, if you could call kissing and a bit of groping "dating", but hadn't been ready to go beyond that. Now, a year later and with the permission of stupid Potter, her so-called husband, to spend time with other boys… Well. She'd be a fool not to.

"Is there a problem, Mrs Potter?" Flitwick's voice interrupted Pansy's reminiscing about last night.

Dammit! Dammit three times! First, because Flitwick had interrupted a really good daydream. Second, because she'd been caught daydreaming instead of practicing.

And third, because her name was Parkinson, dammit! She wasn't a stupid Potter and never would be a stupid Potter.

"No, Sir. I mean, yes, Sir. I can't get this charm to work."

"Let me see you do it. Hmm. Your movements and pronunciation seem correct. Try a sticking charm. Its motion and intent are rather similar and you learned it last year, so once you perform a sticking charm, as practice, you may say, you should be able to do today's work."

It was a good idea. But it didn't work.

"I don't understand this, Mrs Potter. I distinctly recall you casting the spell last year. You should have no trouble now. Cast _lumos_. Perhaps your problem is in your wand."

Pansy's light spell barely lit the tip of her wand.

"There's your problem, Mrs Potter. Your wand must have been damaged somehow. Ask your head of house to escort you to get it repaired this weekend."

And so it was that Pansy found herself with Professor Snape in Ollivander's shop on Saturday.

"There's nothing wrong with this wand, Miss Parkinson," the old wand maker said.

"That's 'Mrs Potter'," Snape said with vindictive relish. He'd probably trapped small animals and tormented them to death as a child, and ever since losing his thumbs the ex-potions master been even more poisonous.

"Oh? Well, be that as it may, the wand is in perfect condition. It could stand the attention of the cleaning kit, but that would not affect its performance. You might wish to see a healer to check for illness which may be affecting your magic, or perhaps a charms specialist to check for blocks that someone may have put on you. There is nothing I can do for you."

And so it was that Pansy found herself in the Hogwarts infirmary that afternoon. Madam Pomfrey hmmphed and hemmed and waved her wand and had Pansy get undressed – the stupid, fat, old pervert probably wished she were young and trim like Pansy – and then waved her wand some more. Then she frowned and told Pansy to get dressed. "Stay here, Mrs Potter. I have to summon the headmaster and your husband."

Pomfrey ignored Pansy's increasingly worried demands for information, saying only that she'd hear soon enough.

And eventually, but not nearly "soon enough", Dumbledore and stupid Potter were in the infirmary.

"Right, then. There's no easy way to tell you this, Mrs Potter, so I'll just tell you. You have an infection. A loathsome infection which consumes and reduces your magical ability. Left untreated, it will render you a squib."

"What? Me, a squib? I'd rather die!"

"Calm yourself, Mrs Potter. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will be able to render you right as rain in no time."

"I'm afraid not. There's no cure. We've found the infection before it finished its work, so you will not be a squib, but your magical ability has been permanently reduced. What you have now is all you'll ever have."

Not giving Pansy time to get over the shock, the old hag continued, "The reason I asked Mr Potter in here, aside from him being your husband and entitled to know about your health issues, is that your disease is spread by intimate contact. I need to check Mr Potter, and no doubt give him the same treatment as you'll be receiving. I'm sure the infection was brought to the school via Mr Potter's date to the ball. I'm also aware of your recent activities, Mrs Potter. I will also need a list of every young wizard you've been with because I'll be needing to check them as well."

"Every one?" Pansy asked a small voice. "I don't know if I can remember all of them. And only wizards, or the witches, too?"

Pomfrey looked a bit disgusted while stupid Potter looked a bit intrigued.

"All of them, Mrs Potter. Anyone you might have exchanged any body fluid with, even from, ah, what do they call it? Frog kissing, because of the way frogs stick their tongues out of their mouths?"

"French kissing. Get a big pot of ink. You'll be needing it."

As she gave them name after name, Pansy gradually went from embarrassed to proud. She'd managed to be friendly with more wizards than anyone else, even Dumbledore. She even noticed stupid Potter looking rather impressed and maybe even pleased, but who knows what went through his stupid head?

Pomfrey was shaking her head and frowning at Pansy. Jealous much?

"Headmaster, I don't have nearly enough Garraghty's Gargle to treat a fraction of these students. Blythe's Blight is very contagious and we can expect that most of the students on this list will be infected, along with anyone they may have passed it on to. You'd best notify Severus. He won't be able to brew it himself, I'm sure you realize, but I'm sure the upper-year students will be able. You will need to find some money for ingredients. I'm sure we don't have enough of the rarer items on hand. I'll also be commandeering all of the school owls to notify the parents, and St Mungo's as well."

"I'm sure we don't need to go to all that trouble. Once any infected students are cured, they'll be right as rain."

"If you forbid me from notifying the authorities, you will also need to find the money to pay the fines the ministry levies. The fine is currently one hundred galleons per missed report, I believe."

"Mr Potter can pay for any ingredients, fines, and other expenses. He is the one who brought a diseased woman into the school and started all this mischief."

"Hey, Katya was a very nice girl with a hard-luck story like you wouldn't believe, and I didn't touch her and neither did any other student, at least not as part of the Yule Ball. As for paying, I have a better idea, Old Man. How about my so-called guardian pay it. He's the one who saddled me with a diseased wife. What were you trying to do, kill me off so you could steal my money? There's rumors floating around about orphans of rich families finding themselves broke once they grow up. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Pansy, lost in her own misery, tuned out the squabbling between the stupid old man and the stupid young man. She had more important things to think about, like herself.

**...oooOOOooo...**

"Potter! What do you think you're doing with that potion?"

"I'm about to add the diced Thinsdang Thistle, Professor."

"That's not Thinsdang Thistle, you imbecile. That's a common thistle. And I see you have frog livers, not newt livers, on your tray. Detention tonight, Potter. You will inventory the potions supply room until you can recognize the ingredients."

Ron felt bad for his friend. Detentions were bad. Detentions with Snape were a nightmare, and this one looked to be a … Ron had to stop and think. What was worse than a nightmare? "A really bad nightmare" didn't sound fancy enough. Too bad Hermione had already run off to her next class. She'd have been able to tell him a smart-sounding word. He could ask her at lunch.

Row wandered off, thinking about lunch. Maybe he would pace himself today, like a distance runner, instead of cramming in as much as he could as fast as he could, like a sprinter. He didn't notice that Harry had joined him until his friend spoke. "I'm really not looking forward to tonight's detention," Harry said as they walked to their next class. "Is it too much to hope that some disaster will strike so I don't have to go?"

Just moments later, a thundering _boom!_ shook that part of the castle. Catching his balance, Ron cast his eyes about wildly. Even from up here he could see the poisonous-looking smoke cloud filling the corridor back the way they had come.

Ron looked warily at his friend. "I guess it's not too much to hope." It seemed there were an awful lot of accidents around Harry lately.

Ron's concern was only increased at dinner that evening. Dumbledore got up and announced the tragic news that Potions classes would be canceled for at least the next week because the classroom and storeroom were destroyed and – and this was the tragic part – the professor had been killed in the accident.

The Hogwarts students accepted the news quietly. Not so the Beauxbatons students, all of whom burst into excited twittering. Ron had heard that all of the Frenchies were failing Potions this year. Normally he might have held his head up in pride at this further proof that Hogwarts was the best and toughest school, but he'd also overheard a couple of Slytherins talking about how their head of house was showing the Frenchies their place.

Could Harry have done it? Or could one of those foreigners have blown up the Potions classroom just to get even with Snape? That seemed likely. Ron wasn't sure how he should feel about that. It was good that Snape was dead and it was good that he had a free period when Potions was. On the other hand, it was bad if some foreigners had blown up a good English wizard, or even a bad English wizard. Even if some of the foreigners were good-looking girls, and wasn't it interesting how every single Beauxbatons girl looked very good. Was it some charm they taught over there or was it just that French girls were all pretty? Ron thought about girls as he ate another piece of pie. Those were the only two things worth thinking about, food, girls, and chess. Ron couldn't be concerned about his poor school grades with his head full of the only three things for a healthy young wizard to think about: food, girls, chess, and quidditch.


	4. Broken

"Albus, I think we have a problem. No, I'm sure that we do."

"What is the problem? Is it the students breaking into the potions cabinet for recreational purposes again?" Albus wasn't quite certain that he entirely believed Madam Pomfrey's report of break-ins and thefts. The school matron had been conspicuously cheerful for the week before she made the report. And Albus was certain that the students as a whole were too dedicated to their studies to do something so foolish and irresponsible as to dose themselves without a medical professional's advice.

Wait a minute! Albus checked the calendar. Today's date was divisible by three, making this a "students are little criminals who need to be watched every minute" day.

Poppy must be right. Those spotty little rotters had broken in and stolen school resources. The only trouble would be identifying which of the little bastards had done it. He'd just have to punish them all.

Pomfrey's voice pulled Albus out of his plans.

"No, this is potentially much more serious. I was going over my records, trying to figure out how I missed Pansy Potter's decline in magical ability, when I spotted it."

"What did you spot, Poppy?" She always did this, make leading statements and then wait until he responded as expected. It annoyed Albus greatly. _He_ was the one who was supposed to be playing games with words and lives!

"My records on Mrs Potter – Miss Parkinson, she was at the time – have been tampered with. The pages which should show her magical power last year and earlier this year were replaced by a page for some unnamed girl, probably a firstie who was just coming into her magic."

"Before we leap to conclusions, we must conduct a thorough investigation. Is it possible that you simply misfiled the pages? Perhaps you could check the records of the younger students and see if you find Miss Parkinson's – Mrs Potter's – pages in another folder."

"Well! I've never been so insulted! I need not remind you that I have been doing this job for over twenty years and I don't make mistakes! And I'll have you know that I am very busy and do not have the time to go through dozens of folders, certainly not for a foolish task as this would be."

"Yes, you're quite right. It must have been tampering by another. Do you have any idea of who might have done it?"

"I seem to recall that when I was working on paperwork last September, a pair of students came into the infirmary for some minor problem. While I was taking care of their concerns, Harry Potter stopped in briefly but left without asking for my assistance."

"That does sound suspicious. Do you have anything else to add?"

"Only that Mr Potter has not needed my attention all year. Most years he'll come to me almost weekly, between Quidditch injuries and other mishaps."

"As if he's been avoiding you. I agree, that does make him look guilty. Thank you, Poppy. I'll take it from here."

As the matron bustled her way out, Albus thought about the criminal justice system. Trials weren't needed, so long as the crime investigators were as honest and diligent as he. It might be possible to trim the ministry budget a bit by reducing the number of trials conducted.

But back to the case at hand, this was more evidence that Harry was turning to the dark side. Between attacking other students, sending his wife out to infect and destroy his enemies, and threatening to leave his wife at the bottom of the lake, he was showing an utterly callous disregard for the lives of others.

It broke Albus's heart to see another of his students going bad. It was no surprise that this came to light on a divisible-by-three day.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Hermione Granger – _Associate Professor_ Hermione Granger, thank you very much – felt a twinge of guilt. A dispassionate observer might say she was abusing her position.

On the other hand, she was the one in a position to be abused, in more ways than one. Deputy Headmistress McGonagall had convinced her to take the job for no pay, claiming the school didn't have the money for another salary. That seemed unlikely, as they'd been paying Snape handsomely to do a worse job than Hermione was doing, but Hermione had accepted under the condition that she would immediately be granted her Potions NEWT and that she would have access to a time-turner to allow her to teach Potions while taking her other classes. McGonagall had been reluctant to agree to that latter point, remembering Hermione's over-use of it the previous year, but they worked out a compromise with McGonagall keeping the time-turner and the student-professor going to her at need.

Hermione's final requirement had been that she would be able to make use of other willing students to assist with any difficulties she encountered in teaching while still taking classes herself.

That demand had been worded _very_ carefully.

A handful of older volunteers helped with grading the papers and potions in exchange for tutoring. There'd been a bit of a pissing contest – literally; Hermione had challenged the loudest complainers to brew hospital-quality diuretics and had left them all looking all wet – over accepting a professor younger than the students, but it had worked out well enough.

And that left just the pressure and tension and responsibility and _stress_ of her new job.

Luckily, Harry was her best friend. He would do anything to help her, even if she hadn't offered him remedial potions lessons.

"I think we'll see better results if you relax your wrist until the final snap."

Hermione had quickly trained him to spank just hard enough. The professor felt a twinge of guilt whenever she thought about lying across a married student's lap one or two or seven nights per week…

But then Harry's hand moved slightly and it wasn't _guilt_ that was foremost in the youngest professor's mind.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Peter Pettigrew felt miserable. First there was this whole thing about taking care of a baby-sized Dark Lord, and having to feed him by extracting venom from that monstrous snake and then brewing a terrible-smelling green potion. And changing the diapers. Living as a rat, with a rat's sense of smell, in the pocket of a teenage boy with questionable standards of hygiene was better than having to take care of the atrocity that occurred four hours after every feeding the Dark Mooncalf. Nothing he had ever seen or heard had prepared him for that green, sticky mess, nor for the Dark Thing's screaming, "Make sure to wipe it all off this time! This body is very delicate!"

Making it worse, Peter had to do almost everything by hand, the muggle way. Something was wrong with his magic lately and the usual child care charms didn't work properly. Neither did the hundred other charms and transfigurations a wizard used every day. The poor wizard was kept busy until he dropped, just taking care of himself and his master.

And now, with his magic misbehaving, Peter couldn't even indulge himself in the one pleasure in his life. He could barely apparate now, certainly not all the way up to Hogsmeade. He couldn't get to the brothel in Hogsmeade on his monthly half day off. That was the only adult establishment he knew of which would cater to a wizard of his limited means. Extremely limited means, but outside of Hogwarts's Hogsmeade weekends, the small establishment didn't have much business, so a few sickles was enough to hire one of their non-top-shelf girls.

Peter coughed and sneezed again as he prepared another disgusting meal of venom and bile. To top it all off, he was coming down with something, probably a result of too little sleep and living in wrecked building in the wet springtime. He'd gone wrong somewhere, he reflected gloomily. He was working harder, was appreciated less, and had less money than when he was a student twenty years ago.

"Curse you, Pettigrew!" Peter had sneezed right in Voldebaby's face.

"I'm sorry, Master. I've caught a cold and do not have the money to buy Pepper-Up Potion."

Peter died that night. His illness had been a bit more than a simple cold.

Voldemort raged, but there was nothing he could do. None of his slaves would come until called, and he could not call them without a wand and a living Dark Mark. His wand was only a few feet away but this construct body was too weak to drag itself such a distance.

This construct body also could not die. The body hungered and withered and suffered, but it could not die, not so long as Voldemort had magic to power it. Voldemort's spirit suffered along with the body, but there was nothing he could do.

Before long, the suffering ended, thanks to the Blythe's Blight Peter had picked up and then sneezed onto his master. Voldemort, ungrateful being that he was, wasn't even grateful for the end of his suffering as he winked out of existence.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Daphne Greengrass sat in the common room, ears open and mouth shut. The meeting wasn't _mandatory_, per se, but every Slytherin felt the pressure to attend and to contribute what he or she knew which could help.

"Dumbledore asked all of us prefects if we'd seen Potter doing anything suspicious. We didn't have enough for him, so he told us to ask all you lot."

"You mean, aside from Potter turning us all into squibs? What more does Dumbledore want?"

"We're not _all_ infected. Just the boys who'd been with Plague Rat Parkinson."

"And the girlfriends – former girlfriends – of the boys who'd been with the Plague Rat."

"Hey! Why are you blaming me? I'm not the one who went out and got sick! And I didn't get myself sick again after Pomfrey cured me the first time. It was all stupid Potter's fault!"

Daphne stayed out of the ensuing shouting match. It served no purpose. Pansy would never admit that she had caught the blight on her own. _Potter_ wasn't sick, and he'd never even touched Pansy except to grab her arm a few times. It was obvious to anyone who could think that he had had nothing to do with it. Daphne made eye contact with the few other Slytherins who could think. Surely an ambitious person who could _think_ could profit from this mess.

The quarrel was easy to ignore until it petered out. The volume was much lower than usual for this type of discussion. It had become _de rigeur_ for purebloods to keep a bubblehead charm up at all times, or to wear a mask covering the nose and mouth if they couldn't cast the charm. Both worked to make the shouting quieter, and many Slytherins no longer had the spare magical power to cast a Sonorus charm to overcome that.

"Listen," the Seventh Year female prefect said once everyone had settled into a sullen and finger-pointing silence, "we all agree that Potter is the one who did this to us. The question is, do we turn him over to Dumbledore or do we take care of him ourselves?"

"I say we do it ourselves. Everyone knows Potter is Dumbledore's pet. All he'd do is slap him on the wrist in public and then find an excuse to give him five hundred house points at the leaving feast."

"You're right, but what can we do to him? Some of us already went to pay him back last week, but he attacked us first, before we were ready. We're lucky there's no Quidditch this year. Bole and Derrick will never fly again."

"Yah, and then the halfblood bastard pretended he didn't know anything about it when he 'found' us all on the hallway floor a minute later."

"I agree with Parkinson. It's totally not normal for a husband to let his wife sleep around. He must have had some reason for it. Whatever it is, it's not what we thought. It's not just him being a weakling and her making him let her do it."

"You got that right. He's been covering for her with the prefects and professors."

"And he terrorized a bunch of girls who were calling Parkinson a slut because she'd been with their boyfriends. I hear Michaels still wets herself when she hears his voice."

"It's mostly us Slytherins that are getting hurt, right? And it's mostly us Slytherins that Parkinson is slutting around" – "Hey!" – "with, right? What if we got it all wrong, that she wasn't making him let her slut around, _he_ was making _her_ slut around and then using that as an excuse to beat the hell out of us?"

"I don't think that's it. Potter never said a word to any of us, even when he himself caught Nott with his wife. He didn't beat the hell out of any of us until we cornered him. Same with the girls. He didn't do anything to them except to defend his wife."

"He didn't _have_ to attack us. He was already using Parkinson to turn us into squibs."

"The point is, I think that if we had left him alone, he'd have left us alone."

"I can't believe this!" Pansy shouted. She had to shout. She was one of the students who couldn't cast a Sonorus if her life depended on it. "Are you going to let him get away with it? I don't care about you, but what about _me_? He used _me_, his own wife!"

That outburst didn't cost Pansy as much as it would have in any other house. Most of the Slytherins thought the same way, themselves and their ambition first, housemates second. Nevertheless, she kicked off another round of quarreling, this time focusing on her central role in the infection and weakness that had swept through the school.

Except… it wasn't _all_ of the students who'd succumbed.

"I just thought of something. It's only the proper wizards and witches who Potter is turning into squibs. No mudbloods and no blood traitors, right?"

"I think you're right. I think there were a couple of halfbloods, but only the kind of halfblood who support the proper traditions and know their place."

"Well, of course not!" Pansy put in. "Do you think I'd dirty myself with a m–" She looked around fearfully. She had never been able to tell anyone what Potter had done to her, but the word _mudblood_ had not passed her lips since the beginning of the school year. "Dirty myself with one of _them_? My body is only for purebloods."

Purebloods with a few extra galleons, Daphne thought cattily.

"That's what I meant. Potter must have known you'd only slut around with the proper type. He got you sick and then pointed you at his enemies."

"That's right! Stupid Potter was there when Pomfrey made me tell her who I'd been with. And he looked happy when he heard how many there were. No, not happy, he was _pleased_."

"That fits with something else I saw myself. Hey, John, do you remember what Potter said when you and me and some others cornered him and were telling him we'd all been with his wife?"

"Yah. He didn't get upset at all. He just told us we'd gotten what we deserved."

"Let's wrap this up," said the male Seventh Year prefect. "I still have to do my Potions homework for Professor Mudblood. We've figured out that Potter brought in that prostitute, got her to infect Parkinson and probably obliviated her afterward, and then pointed Parkinson at all the right-thinking purebloods. Then he sat back and watched his enemies get sick."

"And don't forget," put in his counterpart, "he made sure no one in the school stopped her. He didn't let Parkinson get detention and didn't let the other girls give her a hard time. Does anyone have anything else to add, or should we take this to Dumbledore?"

"I've got something to add! He's destroyed a dozen families. My father and uncles are dead and my grandparents are too old to have more and I'm almost a squib. The Zabini family is as good as dead because of Potter!"

"He's evil! He's a dark lo–"

"Quiet, you idiot! Don't let him hear you say that. He's still pretending to be naive and innocent like he's not doing any of this. And we know what 'accidents' happen to everyone who finds out what he's up to."

The meeting broke up without much more ado. Without Snape to cover for them, the Slytherin students had to turn in all of their homework complete and on time to all of their professors. There were no more official excuses from their head of house for late work.

Daphne kept her face dispassionate as she sat and thought, but only long practice kept her from drooling. Potter had realized that a halfblood who had destroyed a dark lord would never be accepted by the powerful traditionalists who supported that dark lord and he had acted brilliantly and ruthlessly to pull their teeth. He was tearing down society, obviously so he could rebuild it with himself in command. _Oh_, how she wanted him!

**...oooOOOooo...**

Albus Dumbledore looked sadly at the grounds and people on this June evening. It would take all of his skill and the calling in of many favors to salvage anything from the ruins all around him.

Harry Potter had ruined everything.

"Wizards, witches, students, and honored guests, welcome to the third and final task of the Tri-wizard Tournament. As you have no doubt surmised by now, the task is to navigate a perilous maze." The maze was not as perilous as it should have been. The maze had grown shaggy and only a fraction of its planned challenges were in place. The groundskeeper and magical creatures expert who should have been seeing to the maze was confined to bed, lacking the magic which was all that allowed a man of that size to move. "The first to reach the end and lay hands on the golden trophy will be declared the winner. In the event that no competitor reaches the goal, the one who comes closest will win the event and the tournament."

His words, being recorded for the official record of the tournament, did not reflect the grim truth. The slate of tri-wizard champions had been considerably winnowed. Only one was prepared to undertake the task.

"Will the contestants please line up for their final instructions before the event begins." Albus requested. Ludo Bagman should have been making the announcements and giving the instructions for this event, as he had for the other two. Albus had to fill in because Ludo had disappeared without a trace and there was no one else to perform that function.

Potter again, no doubt.

The worst part was that Albus didn't know if the devastation had been wrought by malice or by sheer, unplanned happenstance. His special calendar had been destroyed, along with the rest of his office and living quarters, when someone apparently filled his office with an explosive gas which detonated the next time Fawkes flamed in, and now he never knew whether students were little criminals in the making or were the hapless victims of circumstance and misunderstanding. And someone else had done the deed when Harry was in class, so he couldn't even blame Harry for the destruction. Or could he? Without the calendar to tell him otherwise it was entirely possible that today was an "all students are little criminals" day.

Albus was going to have to punish Harry in some way, and he had to do it today because tomorrow was a "students are victims of circumstance" day. Except it wasn't! Without his calendar to tell him otherwise, Albus could treat tomorrow as an "all students are little criminals" day, too. It was a liberating thought.

But right now there was a tournament to run.

"Champions, do you have any questions on the task ahead of you?" Albus dreaded the answer. The little criminal standing before him surely had something in his misbegotten little mind, something to ruin things even further.

"Why are we even doing this? The other three have gotten themselves disqualified, so I automatically win, right?"

Curse the brat! He wasn't supposed to say that out loud where the microphones and the world-wide listening audience could hear it.

"Under the rules, conventions, agreements, and guidelines under which the Tournament's operation has been established, the tasks must be attempted by all able champions. Failure by an able champion to even attempt a task will result in penalties.

"Now, given that there are no more questions" – Albus certainly wasn't going to give the malicious little hoodlum the chance to put that assertion to the lie – "we are ready. Begin!"

Potter stood there.

"Mr Potter, is there a problem? You indicated that you did understand what I told you, did you not?"

"Oh, I understood what you said. And I understood what you didn't say, too. What's it worth to you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You want me to do this more than I want to. I figure, if the Goblet is smart enough to pick the best champions from all the names put in, then it's smart enough to know that I didn't put my name in myself and the magic won't punish me much, maybe not at all. There's not much downside to my just standing here. So if you want me to risk myself in the maze, you have to make it worth my while."

Albus had had enough. "Begone! The power of the Cup compels you!" And before anyone could say another word, Harry was levitated through the opening of the maze, which closed itself behind him.

It wasn't enough that Potter had sent his loathsomely diseased wife out to weaken the innocent heirs of many of the pureblood families. (And then she had somehow managed to infect half of the students of the combined schools. She hadn't done it directly, though that was hard to understand. There was some way she had infected students with whom she had never had personal contact. It was some magic involving mathematics, never Albus's strong suit.)

It wasn't enough that he'd obviously set her on the other champions – though Albus didn't want to think of how the Beauxbatons champion had become infected; the thought of two girls together was just sickening.

And it wasn't even enough that he'd somehow managed to have the sick breeder infect the other three judges – the other three judges who hadn't disappeared without a word – while the school was on lockdown to prevent the magic-consuming disease from spreading beyond the Hogwarts grounds.

No, the brat had to go on and make a mockery of the tournament while the wireless system was broadcasting. Albus was _peeved_. He would have his revenge!

Before he could finalize his revenge plans – he'd gotten hung up at the spanking step – an enchanted horn played a fanfare and the hedgerows shrank down into the earth.

"Wizards and witches, it would appear that we have a winner! In a surprise upset victory, Harry Potter was the first to the center of the maze. Please applaud while we wait for the other champions to join us."

The applause was half-hearted at best. Albus understood the lack of enthusiasm for the victory of the Dark Lord in Training, though he thought a more circumspect audience would have at least feigned enthusiasm. Dark lords had notoriously long memories for lack of respect.

"Congratulations, Mr Potter. On behalf of Hogwarts, I would like to request that you give us the trophy for our trophy room."

"No, I'm going to keep it in my bathroom, I think."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Where else would you put a golden chamber pot?"

The nerve! The brat had no respect for the dignity of centuries-old wizarding institutions. Albus bit back what he was going to say only because the microphone was still on and he was mindful of his reputation before a world-wide audience.

Keeping it all in might be good for your reputation but it's bad for your health. In particular, it's bad for your blood pressure and for all those itty-bitty capillaries running through your brain.

Albus Dumbledore died as he had lived, a brightly-colored spectacle standing out in front of the entire magical world.

**...oooOOOooo...**

Pansy wept as she walked from the headmaster's – headmistress's – office down to the Slytherin dorms the day before the end of term. She had already been unhappy that stupid Potter had survived the tournament, but now she'd been given the devastating news that her father had died in a freak depilatory accident. Pansy wept in part because she truly was sad and in part because it would be expected by anyone who happened to see her. She had to make sure to be seen to be sad because she was the one who had bought her father the magically enhanced shaving cream. Who ever would have guessed it would have _that_ reaction when exposed to his cologne?

As she walked and wept her crocodile tears, Pansy calculated. She would have to throw a lavish funeral and she'd have to give her brother a comfortable annuity – he was disqualified as the family heir because he was unable to produce an heir of his own, but he was still a family member. Other than that, the Parkinson wealth was hers, hers, hers!

It was enough money to arrange for an accident for her dear husband, and then the Potter wealth would be hers, too! And the Black fortune, too – she'd figured out her stupid husband's little trick. But she'd have to be careful. She was less concerned with the law than with social status and the magical marriage contract.

Engrossed in her plans, Pansy didn't notice when a stairway shifted just as she was stepping onto the top step. If she'd had her magic, she would have bounced after the three-story fall onto hard stone. But then, if she'd had her magic, the stairway would not have shifted just when it did. Hogwarts's moving staircases were designed to challenge the students, not to injure them, and were sensitive to the presence of magic beings.

**...oooOOOooo...**

The next several years passed quietly. Quietly unless someone did or said anything unfavorable to Potter.

His wife had died right after school let out. Her neck had been broken in an accident at the school. Magical healing could do nothing for her; magical families usually gave a gravely injured member a potion to stop both the heart and the cost of supporting a useless cripple. Potter, not raised properly, had offered to keep her alive with non-magical devices, but she had quite rightly refused. "I'd rather be dead than touch that muggle garbage." Her epitaph was very moving. Surprisingly so, coming from a halfblood. "Pansy lived as a pureblood and she died holding true to her pureblood beliefs. All purebloods should take a lesson from her death."

Not many in the magical world had ever had much contact with him, so the powerful families turned to his former schoolmates to learn what they could. Of course, many of his former schoolmates were squibs now, and not suitable to be seen talking to, but the fact that Potter had turned dozens of fine, upstanding pureblood wizards and witches into squibs was a massive portent on its own.

Of course, the deep thinkers in the magical world wanted to know what had turned Potter into such a dark monster. After examining all of the evidence, they concluded that it was the Tri-wizard Tournament. In retrospect, it appeared that forcing an unwilling fourteen-year-old to compete was not the wisest move. Someone had suggested that it was the forced marriage to Pansy Parkinson that had been the trigger, but that suggestion was ignored as the nonsense it was. Who _wouldn't_ have been honored to marry such a paragon of pureblood tradition?

The public and the ministry walked even more carefully around Potter as the evidence mounted that he was not only a dark lord but an _insane_ dark lord. No normal wizard would have been so broken up at the death of a house elf, even going so far as to bury it just as if it were a person.

The only good to come of that event was that the mysterious accidents stopped with the elf's death. The wizarding public concluded that Potter had put his dark activities on hold because he was in mourning. The ministry and the public collectively decided to do _nothing_ which might take Dark Lord Potter out of his quiet mourning.

And they all lived happily ever after. Well, the wizarding public as a whole was not happy so much as tense, holding their breath as they tiptoed, but it was better than tickling the sleeping dragon.


End file.
